Shivers
by StarkAndSkinny
Summary: AU, post-war. Donny's mother thinks he should already be married with children, and thus sends him on a matchup. Donny is not happy.


Glossary  
_Pru u'rvu_ - a mitzvah from the Old Testament. It means "be fruitful and multiply".  
_Shidduch_ and _Shadchanes_ – a matchup and a matchmaker (female) – only for Jews.  
_Shul_ - a synagogue.  
_Shabbos_ - Yiddish for Sabbath.  
_Bracha_ - a blessing.  
_Eshes Chayil_ - Proverbs 31, "A woman of valor". A song traditionally sang for the wife on a Sabbath.

Shivers

He looked at her across the table and set his coffee cup down with a click.  
"Look, Miryam, you're a really nice girl."  
She smiled, but there was a look in her eyes.  
"...But what?"  
"But –" He scrubbed a hand through his hair; it was time for him to let his father cut it. "But you don't understand, I'm messed up. From the war."  
The look disappeared, the smile growing wider.  
"You'll learn how to be a civilian again," she said. "The shadchanes said you just came back a few months ago, really, it probably takes a while."  
"No, you don't understand what I did!"  
He stared at her, hands dangling between his knees over the edge of the chair.  
"It's okay, we can make it work."

"Donald, you need to meet a girl, and you're not doing it on your own!"  
"It's fine, Ma, I don't think I'm cut out for marriage."  
"Everyone is cut out for marriage, Donald, it's a mitzvah! P'ru u'rvu!"  
He slammed his Coke bottle on the table.  
"I fucking know, Ma! But maybe I don't want to!"  
Ida Donowitz pressed her lips together when she heard her son make that statement.  
"You don't want to get married, Donald? Why would you not want to get married? Do you not want to be happy? Do you not want to make your parents happy?"  
Donny frowned. This wasn't about making anyone happy. He was happy the way things were – him in Boston, Utivich in Manhattan, them meeting up every other week in Smitty's place.  
"Ma, it's just complicated, arright? I'm no good around other people. It just won't make me happy."  
"Donald, of _course_ it would make you happy, that is what a marriage is for. You need to find a good Jewish woman that would take care of you."  
"Ma, I don't know anyone. And 'sides, I really don't like kids."  
Mother Donowitz cleared her throat and put both her small hands on Donny's, long fingernails painted in a dark plum shade.  
"When it's yours, you'll love it, Donald. And that's perfectly fine, that you don't know anyone – because I went ahead and made some arrangements for you."

"No, no, really, you don't understand." Donny continued, gesturing with his hands, both of them propped atop the table. "The stuff I did in Europe, it really... _changes_ you. Like, really. I get pissed, I start yelling and throwing stuff around and breaking -"  
"It's alright, Donald -"  
"Donny, please."  
"Alright. Donny. Donny, it's perfectly fine. You just need someone that would be there to calm you down and smooth your feathers – trust me, I know what I'm talking about. My father served in the Great War." Miryam shot another of her attempting-to-charm smiles at him.  
Donny sighed and rubbed his mouth for a moment, then sipped from his coffee and took a moment to consider what he was going to say. This girl was not going to give up, it seemed – but there was absolutely _no fucking way_ that he was going to go through with this thing. He enjoyed his life as it was, and as much as he loved his mother, he wasn't going to make this gesture for her. It was his fucking life.  
"Look, listen, we're just not good for each other. I can tell, arright? I'm just, I'm not a good person, and I ain't religious, I don't keep Shabbos or anything."

"Ma! I'm not going on on a fucking shidduch!"  
"Don't swear, Donald, not in my house." She frowned.  
"Sorry. Whatever, Ma, listen, I don't want a shidduch, I don't want to find some girl and … whatever. I like my life!"  
"It's embarrassing, Donald, what do I say at shul? Golda's son just got married by this girl, she's wonderful, and Chaya's youngest, Mendi, you remember him? He's younger than you." She waved dismissively. "He's been married two years already, they have a beautiful daughter and another one on the way. How can I show my face, you're twenty-six and _nothing!_"  
"Well, Ma, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm not like all those other people, alright? No normal person is going to be with me the way I am right now. How's about the time I broke the friggin' Pesach plate gramma brought from the old country? You think anyone would want to deal with that?"  
Ida entwined her fingers and sighed as she considered. Donny had a point there, he wasn't exactly what she would call 'normal' – Golda's son did paperwork in some brigadier general's office, and Chaya's got deferred and spent the entire war studying to become an accountant. They were hardly close do what Donny had to do – God knows what it was, of course, as Donny simply refused to talk about it. _I've just been with the other 29ers and did everything they did, the entire Normandy thing, okay, Ma?_, he'd say whenever she asked.  
"Well, Donald, you have to _at least_ go and talk to her. It's already been set up, I already paid the shadchanes. It would be very rude if you didn't go. I'm not saying you have to marry the girl – just go and treat her to a nice cup of coffee. And if you don't like her – that's fine, I suppose. Alright? Please, Donald? Do it for your mother's sake?"  
Donny sighed, covering his eyes with the palm of his hand, rubbing both his temples with a thumb and a finger.  
"Jesus, Ma, alright, I'll go get coffee with her. Just lay off, will you?"

"Look, you're a really pretty girl, and you could do so much better," he said. When all else failed, being self-effacing sometimes worked. "I'm no kind of man for a nice religious girl like you. There are things I just don't _feel_, you know?"  
She nodded, and he could tell he was finally getting through.  
"Really. You need a nice guy who can, like, make a brachah for you on Shabbos and sing Eshes Chayil, and I can't do that." He sighed.  
"It's okay," she said, finishing her coffee.  
"Like I said, you need someone good, not me, Miryam."  
"Well, that's fine, _Donald_. I guess my parents should not have listened to the Shadchanes. She said all you combat soldiers were awful nice people. I guess she was wrong." Miryam went on without looking directly at Donny, slinging her purse over once shoulder and standing up. "Thank you for the coffee." It was nothing beyond what good manners obliged.

"Jesus, Donny, that sounds awful." Utivich commented, looking over at Donny who was laying on the couch, an arm laying over this face, too embarrassed to even look at Utivich as he told him the entire story.  
"She must've been _at least_ six years younger than me. It was so fuckin' awkward." Donny mumbled from under his arm. His shoes were kicked off his feet to the foot of the sofa, his bag with clothes for the weekend tossed away somewhere on the living room floor.  
"Donny, _I'm_ six years younger than you."  
"Yeah, well," he peeked from under the arm to glance at Utivich, "it's not the goddamn point, arright, Smitty? I can't fucking believe she did that. It was like a bad horror movie. Her friends must all be talking behind her back about what a huge failure I am. Not even able to go on a normal shidduch without fucking shit up."  
"...but I thought you wanted it to get fucked up."  
"I _did_, Smitty, but she can't know that, right? My ma can't know what we're doing here. Ever."  
Yeah. No one could ever know what they were doing in their weekends together, aside from maybe the other Basterds.  
Utivich got up off his chair and patted Donny on the shoulder, hinting him to lift his head up so that he could join him on the couch. He touched his shoulder again to let him know that it was okay to take his head back down and lay it in his lap.  
He ran his fingers through Donny's hair, giving him a small, reassuring smile.  
"Relax, Donny, it's all over with, anyways, right?"  
"Yeah, it's all over," Donny rolled his eyes, "until she comes up with another fucking crazy idea."  
"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Utivich said, and Donny closed his eyes.


End file.
